


Save Me From This Darkness

by boxparade



Series: All Our Yesterdays: The Codas [3]
Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Military, Nightmares, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 13:07:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxparade/pseuds/boxparade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer is having nightmares. Brendon just wants to fix it.</p><p>(Can be read stand-alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save Me From This Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as [All Our Yesterdays](http://archiveofourown.org/works/335810), a little while after Spencer gets home.
> 
> I suppose you can read this stand-alone, but you should really read AOY anyway, because (insert shameless self-promotion here.)
> 
> Title taken from the Snow Patrol song, "Make This Go On Forever"

The first nightmare—the first bad one, at least, because Brendon has no way of knowing if Spencer’s had not-as-bad ones before now—is what does it. Spencer is flipping out, eyes closed but flailing everywhere, and yelling—names, or just commands, Brendon can’t tell—and it’s fucking terrifying. It’s terrifying, and Brendon doesn’t know what to _do_ because he won’t wake up, and he tries to get close and physically hold Spencer still until he wakes up, before he hurts himself, but he gets a nasty whack on the cheek for that.

He ends up having to wait it out, and it’s mostly okay because Spencer _does_ wake up, after Brendon just keeps on calling his name from a few feet away. Spencer jolts up, looking around as his hands scrabble around his hips, arms, legs—probably looking for guns. Brendon leans back against the wall, folds his arms around his stomach, and waits.

Spencer sees him eventually. At first he doesn’t quite register who Brendon is, just that there’s a person there, and he’s ready to vault off the bed and go for Brendon, but he stops. Good thing, too, because Brendon wouldn’t really know what to do if Spencer did something like try to kill him, and he was hoping not to have to get someone else involved. If he were being strangled, he’d probably end up dialing 911—if he even got the chance—because as much as he understands what’s going on, there are some things he doesn’t want Spencer to have to deal with. Accidentally killing his husband is one of them.

Brendon waits a full five minutes for Spencer to calm down, rubbing slow circles into his temples and scrubbing hands down his face. He hasn’t been too loud, but either way the kids don’t seem to be knocking, asking what’s wrong, so Brendon figures he can check on them later.

“You good?” Brendon asks, short and to the point, and waits as long as Spencer needs to answer.

“Yeah.”

Brendon nods in acknowledgment, waits until Spencer chances a look in his direction, and then says firmly “I think you should see a psychologist.”

Spencer looks so betrayed for a moment that Brendon wants to take it back, immediately, say he didn’t mean it, but he knows he can’t—he’s standing his ground on this one, for both their sakes. Spencer looks ready to argue—to launch into some sort of epic fight sure to wake the kids, but then he does a double-take and notices the little blemish of red, high on Brendon’s cheek. It doesn’t hurt, and he’s not mad—not even remotely so—but Spencer’s eyes widen and he looks fucking _wrecked._

Brendon knows that Spencer is interpreting this all wrong, because he’s seen this damn movie before, so he cuts all those thoughts off before Spencer gets a chance to voice them. “No,” he states. “This is not your fault. I’m not mad, I’m not freaking out, and I’m not trying to tell you that I can’t do this anymore, because you and I both know that’s a damn lie. What I _am_ doing is being logical about this.”

Spencer cuts off a sort-of whimper in his throat, and he still looks kind of broken, so Brendon doesn’t wait to continue.

“You’re having nightmares—which is _completely normal_ and completely okay—but it’s also the kind of thing that I don’t want you to have to deal with forever. I, being your husband and not some trained psychologist, can only do so much.”

Spencer swallows, and pulls in on himself a little more. Brendon stands his ground. “So I’m saying, I want you to start seeing a psychologist. And no, this is not me freaking out or getting scared because you accidentally hit me—” Spencer makes a noise like a dying cat, and Brendon fights the urge to wince, it’s so uncomfortable. “This is me saying I want you to be okay, and I want you to be happy, and I don’t want you to have to deal with any of this longer than you have to. Okay?”

Spencer doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t even _breathe,_ so Brendon shifts his stance, stares a little harder, and asks forcefully “Okay?”

Spencer nods and promptly looks down into his lap, like he’s ashamed, and Brendon isn’t going to have that. That isn’t what this should be. “Okay,” Brendon agrees easily, chances a small smile, because this was easier than he thought it’d be, and pushes himself off the wall.

For a moment, Spencer looks up like he can’t, for the life of him, figure out what Brendon’s doing. But then he just sort of settles for mild shock when Brendon gets back into bed and slowly pulls Spencer to him, wrapping around him warm and sure, trying to say so much more than words can manage.

Spencer squirms a bit, but settles, and Brendon reaches behind him to flick off the lamp again, because certain things are easier in the dark. He firms his grip around Spencer, like he’s afraid Spencer’s going to run (and he very well might) and says “You wanna tell me about it?”

Spencer’s not expecting the question—he shifts noticeably and sharp, but then he settles back down as Brendon just keeps on working fingertip patterns into the bits of skin Brendon can reach, avoiding his hip. “I don’t—” Spencer starts, and then stops short abruptly. Brendon shifts a little behind him and tries not to make it too obvious that he’s breathing in Spencer’s scent.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” Brendon says slowly, because maybe Spencer doesn’t know. This isn’t some sort of test, Brendon’s not going to have him committed if he doesn’t ‘pass’ because Brendon isn’t Spencer’s CO, isn’t his psychologist, isn’t his damn captor, he’s his husband. He doesn’t get to tell Spencer to do things he doesn’t want to—at least not when it comes to things like this. And he damn well doesn’t want that kind of power, either.

Spencer shakes his head and stops feeling quite so tense beneath Brendon’s careful hands. “They’re all the same,” he says in a low voice, adjusted so they don’t wake the kids, or maybe just because it’s easier. “Gunfire and running and blood. Torture. Other stuff, but nothing—nothing specific, really.” Brendon nods mutely, lets Spencer continue.

“Sometimes I see faces on the bodies.” Brendon flinches. He doesn’t mean to, but Spencer just said it so casually, maybe a little haunted, and the fact that he’s seeing these things at all is enough to kick up some of the repressed rage Brendon has against the military. “Sorry,” Spencer says quickly, “I shouldn’t—”

“No,” Brendon cuts him off, because this is his own problem, not something Spencer should be apologizing for. He presses his forehead between Spencer’s shoulder blades, tightens his arms. “I’m sorry. I’ll listen.”

Spencer seems like he’s going to fight it—Brendon can tell from the way his shoulders tighten, the way he draws his breath, the way he doesn’t move for a moment—but he must reconsider, because he deflates again. “There’s nothing to tell,” he says honestly. “It’s all just sound and light and movement. And terror.”

Brendon nods quietly, not trying to say he understands, but that he’s trying to. He doesn’t know how to fix this, and that scares him. He can’t take away what happened to Spencer over there, and he can’t convince Spencer’s unconscious mind that he’s safe now, and all he can ever really do is be there in the aftermath.

He just has to wait until the worst of it is over and be there to soothe Spencer’s fears, try to fix him in whatever way he can. Pick up the pieces and keep hoping that the next time, Spencer won’t break beyond repair. That next time, it won’t be as bad.

It’s unnervingly similar to how it was when Spencer was deployed.

They drift into silence then, pressed close and breathing in time. Spencer doesn’t have any more to say on the subject, and Brendon doesn’t know if there’s anything he _can_ say, and he just keeps hoping he’s making all the right choices. He hopes that giving Spencer someone else to talk to—someone that might be able to make more sense of his mind right now—will help him in ways Brendon can’t, even if he’s half convinced that all psychology is bullshit.

But this is what he’s got, and he’s going to stick with it so long as there’s the possibility it’ll work.

He doesn’t know what shifts, or how long they’ve been there like that, but he asks, quietly, “You going to be able to sleep?”

“No.”

Brendon nods to himself, says “Okay,” and then lets the silence wrap back around them, comforting in its steadiness. He can tell by Spencer’s breathing and the set of his spine that he’s not asleep, and Spencer can probably tell the same of Brendon, but they both seem to be okay with this. Just holding on, not sleeping but together—safe and together.

It is what it is, and Brendon lets it be, and holds on.


End file.
